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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257646">Rare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel'>DyslexicSquirrel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, But really they're switches, Explicit Sexual Content, Florist Geralt, Idiots in Love, M/M, Musician Jaskier, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:20:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier’s ex-boyfriend and bandmate just dumped him to pursue a solo career. Valdo can go screw himself, but Jaskier has too much self respect to argue with someone who clearly doesn’t want him and too much class to make a scene even if (or maybe because) Valdo expects it. Telling the other man to fuck off in the language of flowers instead sounds like a good idea when he’s drunk at 3am in his now empty apartment. </p>
<p>Walking into a flower shop the next day, he expects to be laughed at or humored. What he’s not expecting is for the brooding man behind the counter to take him seriously. He wasn’t expecting Geralt at all or his complicated life and how well Jaskier would fit into it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You've been so distant from me lately</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my contribution to the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang. </p>
<p>Amazing art in chapter 2 is by <a href="http://czsjs36373.tumblr.com/">Reverse Peach</a>.</p>
<p>Thank you to yourselenite for the kind of last minute beta and putting up with me lol Any errors left are entirely my fault. </p>
<p>The title of the fic and chapters are from Rare by Selena Gomez. Not necessary to listen to the song to understand the fic. I was just listening to it while I was writing this and it hit a cord.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Can you believe it? He had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I’m holding him back? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Jaskier jabbed a finger at his own chest, wincing at the shrill note his voice hit. He paused for a breath, and took a swig from the bottle of vodka he’d found in the freezer. It burned on the way down, but that was fine. He felt like he had been gutted. Valdo didn’t just empty his half of the closet and grab the coffeemaker when they came home after the most awkward car ride ever, he had broken all the promises they made each other their senior year of high school. Seething, fueled by alcohol, he said, “He’d be an accountant with two point five kids, having dinner every Sunday with his stuck up parents, wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>khakis </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweater vest </span>
  </em>
  <span>if it wasn’t for me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, he was being a little dramatic, he knew that. Valdo said they would be together, hit it big together, but he was nothing but a lying liar. Jaskier felt like he threw away almost a decade of his life. He collapsed on the couch, letting his head loll over the back, and looked at Artemis upside down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m better off without him, right?” She blinked, head tilted to the side, and adjusted her feet on her perch. His falcon was the only one who understood him. But he’d known her longer than Valdo. Known her longer than anyone he still talked to. Freshman year when his school said he needed a sport and his parents suggested </span>
  <em>
    <span>golf</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he threw out the first thing he thought of. It was how he found himself in the woods with a master falconer trying to catch a bird. “You never liked him anyway. I don’t even know why I’m asking you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe if he had taken Arty trying to bite Valdo the first time they met as a sign, he could have saved himself this… he was loathe to call it heartbreak because when he thought about it, he was more upset about losing his singing partner than his boyfriend and what did that say about him and their relationship? “I’m an idiot.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t an asshole, which was more than he could say about Valdo. Taking another healthy swallow of vodka, he felt his anger rise again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That dick,” he spat. He got one gig on his own and thought he was Beyoncé. Jaskier had done everything for them from schmoozing club owners to running their Instagram. Jaskier was the reason they had a demo. Valdo wouldn’t have a career if it wasn’t for him. And he said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier</span>
  </em>
  <span> was holding him back. He barked a laugh and Artemis made a disgruntled noise and flexed her wings. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turning with less grace than he normally possessed thanks to the booze starting to hit him hard, he leaned over the back of the couch and stroked her beak with the pointer finger of his free hand. “Sorry, baby girl.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She closed her eyes and let him pet her until he got tired and slumped over the back of the couch, blinking to clear his vision, the bottle of vodka brushing the floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate him.” And he did. He loved Valdo, part of him always would even if he realized now that he didn’t love Valdo the way he should love his boyfriend, but even if their relationship was filling out, the betrayal was still there, burning a hole in his gut worse than the cheap vodka. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to tell him that I hate him, but I don’t want to be that crazy ex who couldn’t accept the breakup or make Valdo think I’m bitter or jealous because I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said to himself, wagging his head back and forth. Jaskier would and could make it on his own, thank you very much. The question was, how did you tell someone they were trash without actually saying the words? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He started to lift his head to take another drink when his eyes snagged on the flower pots sitting on the window sill, the ones he bought to liven the place up because Valdo’s idea of interior design was ultra modern and neutrals. And faux furs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>really should have been the thing that tipped Jaskier off they were doomed as a couple. But that wasn’t important, now. What was important was, he had a plan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Poets from time immemorial talked about the language of flowers, didn’t they? Or something. If you could tell someone how much you loved them with flowers, then it stood to reason you could tell someone you hoped they burned in hell the same way. Jaskier could send Valdo a bouquet, with a pithy card that said ‘No hard feelings,’ content in the knowledge that Valdo wouldn’t know he had the equivalent of a giant middle finger sitting on the table of his new apartment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier clambered over the back of the couch, stumbling when his foot got stuck in between two of the cushions. He swapped the vodka for one of the flower pots and held it up to Artemis in triumph. “I’m going to tell Valdo to fuck off with flowers.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Artemis gazed at him in silent judgement. “What? It’s perfect! He won’t know what it means, cause he’s not that kind of gay,” he wasn’t either, but details and future him’s problem, “and he won’t be able to wonder if I’m over him or not because </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously </span>
  </em>
  <span>people who aren’t over their exes don’t send them flowers, you know?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only reply he received was more blinking. He waved her off and retrieved the vodka, making his way back over to the couch. “Why am I asking you? You’ve never even had a relationship.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier remembered how much he hated the couch once he was stretched out across it, his feet hanging over the edge. “This will work. It’s amazing. Best plan I’ve ever had.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bottle was half empty by the time he fell across his bed, still fully dressed, and passed out an hour later. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The aftermath of a drinking binge was never pretty, Jaskier reflected the next morning (could have been afternoon, for all he knew) when he rolled over in bed straight into a patch of sunlight. That normally wouldn’t have been a problem, but today it sent pain stabbing into his brain when he opened his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Son of a whore!” His arms flailed, the blankets tangled around his legs, and he hit the floor with a thud. “Ugh.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier let himself have a few moments to literally wallow on the floor, the comforter he dragged down with him pulled over his face, before he stood on shaky legs and found his way to the bathroom by touch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Last night had sucked. He had basically been dumped twice—once by his boyfriend and then by his musical partner, but he didn’t have the luxury to just fall apart. He had a gig tonight (the booking manager was going to throw a fit when she found out he was going on alone) and he needed to take Arty out to let her do her hawk thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Falconers didn’t typically have the same bird for as long as Jaskier had, but Artemis suffered an injury and no one was sure if she would be able to hunt on her own again. The man he was apprenticed under suggested sending her to a sanctuary, but Jaskier hadn't wanted to lose her. It was selfish, maybe, but his parents had been fighting when his father wasn’t away on business and he hadn’t met Valdo yet. She was the only thing in his life that was a constant. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Artemis subsisted on frozen rats for the first few months after her rehabilitation, but had been finding her own prey now for years. Having her cooped up in the house or in the mews in the backyard more than strictly necessary wasn’t an option as far as he was concerned. With the odd hours he kept, it was easy to sit out on the deck and let her fly around to her heart’s content. And he was free to rehearse or compose or do nothing but lounge around in his underwear since his closest neighbor was miles away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That had been what attracted Jaskier to this little house, set back in the woods. One of the reasons, anyway. It was also very, very far away from his family. At least his parents hadn’t been able to take away his trust fund when they took everything else after he announced that he wasn’t going to college or law school and was, in fact, going to be a musician. The way his mother acted, you would have thought he told them, “I’m going to become a serial killer, but I’ll make sure to write.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s grandfather set his trust fund up when he was born to go to Jaskier when he turned eighteen and the old man had been gone by then. Though sometimes Jaskier wondered if he knew somehow that Jaskier was going to go off the beaten path. He liked to think one of the Pankratzs hadn’t been a complete bastard.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he reached the bathroom, only bumping into a few things on the way, he left the light off. The frosted glass window let in enough light that he could see, but not enough to blind him. Shower turned on hot enough to start fogging the mirror, he stopped out of his clothes from the night before, making a face at the odor of sweat and booze before tossing them in the general direction of the hamper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He emerged an hour later in a cloud of steam. His head still hurt, turning the large windows in his bedroom that he usually loved into something he hated, and he grabbed some off-brand Tylenol from the medicine cabinet then went to find something to wear. It was warming up this time of year, those months in between spring and summer, so he settled on a pair of old, grey sweatpants and nothing else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was halfway to the kitchen when he remembered he didn’t have a damn coffee maker anymore and cursed, glaring at the spot it used to occupy on the counter from where he stood in the living room. He would need to go buy a new one because Jaskier might have given up many, many creature comforts when he left his old, pampered life, but he would wear corduroy before existing without coffee. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Artemis was already awake, blinking from her perch. She didn’t need to be able to speak for him to know what she thought. “I promise to never get serious with anyone you try to peck again, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arty bobbed her head and chirped. “You’re a stupid human,” he imagined her saying, “but you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid human, and I have to look out for you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Love you, too,” he told her with a quirk of his lips then sighed. “Well, seems like I’ll need to go out for my caffeine fix. So, I’ll let you get breakfast first and get your ya-yas out.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier turned to grab his sunglasses off the coffee table and frowned when he found a sticky note stuck to its surface. He grabbed it, recognizing his drunken scrawl and squinted, trying to make out the words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget plan,” he read out loud. “Plan? What plan? Do you remember a plan?” Arty gave him a blank stare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, you’re no help as usual,” he muttered before groaning. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I’m just hung over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier crumpled up the slip of paper and tossed it on the table. Slipping his sunglasses on, he slipped on his gauntlet, holding his forearm out for Arty to step onto. Her talons firmly gripping the leather, he turned for the sliding glass that led to the deck and froze. Tossing Arty a sidelong glance, he asked, “You thought this was hilarious, didn’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All over the glass door were more sticky notes in an ‘x’ across the pane. He must have used a whole pad. His eyebrows twitched up. “I didn’t even know I had Post-its.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A quick scan of the notes informed him that 1) Drunk Him was kind of a dick and 2) he was supposed to send Valdo flowers in an effort to poetically tell him he was scum. Drunk Him had thought it was genius. Sober Him was less than certain, but then again, it would hardly be the weirdest thing he had ever done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a florist in town, isn’t there?” he mused out loud, pushing the door open and walking outside. “If I’m doing this, I’m committing. No Google search and supermarket flowers. I want someone who knows what they’re doing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arty chirped. He stroked her beak then held his arm out and she flew off, circling a few times before going out over the forest. Jaskier watched her go, hands gripping the wooden railing. There was always a chance she wouldn’t come back every time she left. That knowledge made it all the better when she landed on the deck railing. He settled back in one of the Adirondack chairs, feet propped up on the railing, and waited, listening to the echo of Arty’s cries. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And I'll bet there's somebody else out there</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier stood outside the store front, chewing on the straw of his Caramel Macchiato. The was plain brick with a sign above the door that read Wolf Willow, a green branch with tiny yellow flowers etched into the wood behind it. </p>
<p>Seemed an odd name for a flower shop, but what did he know? he thought. Until he walked in and saw the man behind the counter, with his white hair and strange amber eyes. Wolf fits, he amended. Anything with wolves very much fits if this guy works here. </p>
<p>The man was leaning against the counter on folded arms, a book open in front of him,  and strands of hair falling from his ponytail to brush his stubble-shadowed jaw. Jaskier didn’t think anyone had ever made flannel look that good; the soft black and white plaid stretched across wide shoulders, top two buttons showing a swath of chest, sleeves rolled up to show off ropey forearms. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Uh, you’re hot.” Jaskier’s eyes widened. He wanted to smack himself. “I didn’t mean to say that.” Out loud. “I’m hung over. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>At least the guy looked amused, one corner of his mouth tipping up. He picked up a dry, pressed flower, something that was once red but now browned with age, placing it into the book and flipping it shut before straightening. “Can I help you?” </p>
<p>He fumbled with his sunglasses, tucking them into the v-neck of his t-shirt. “I need flowers.”</p>
<p>“I figured as much.” </p>
<p>“Right. Cause this is a flower shop. What else could I want?” Except maybe some hot rebound sex, but I’m not asking for that. I’m not that pathetic. He walked closer to the counter, contemplated setting his cup down, but didn’t want to risk a water stain on the clearly high quality wood. “I have a situation. I got dumped last night. And I came up with this plan to tell my ex to go fuck himself with flowers. It sounded really good last night when I was half a bottle of vodka deep, but is that even possible?” </p>
<p>“Why?” </p>
<p>“Why what?”</p>
<p>The man crossed his arms over his chest. It was a really nice chest, he thought. Jaskier’s eyes got stuck on the patch of skin between the lapels of his shirt. When he blinked and looked up, the man raised a brow, but didn’t comment. “Why not just tell him to fuck off? With words.” </p>
<p>“Because it’s complicated. And I don’t want to be the hysterical, bitter gay ex.” He punctuated his statement by taking a sip of his coffee and if he did something borderline vulgar with the straw, well, he was single now and he could flirt if he wanted to.</p>
<p>“Okay,” the man said with a shrug. He moved around the counter, brow furrowing as he looked around. </p>
<p>“What, really? Just like that?” </p>
<p>“Hmm.” Jaskier watched the man walk around seemingly pulling flowers at random, reconsidering some and then picking something else instead. </p>
<p>“You don’t think I’m crazy?” </p>
<p>“Didn’t say that.” </p>
<p>“Fair enough.” The florist had very nice thighs. Big. Like tree trunks. His jeans looked as well worn as his shirt, but not in a ‘he couldn’t buy new clothes’ kind of way; more a ‘he’d been wearing these since college and they were finally the way he wanted them’ way. Because the florist didn’t seem much older than he was despite the white hair, so even if he had gone to college, he couldn’t be that far out of it if he had. Maybe he dyed it? </p>
<p>And Jaskier should probably feel a bit bad objectifying a stranger this much, but he wasn’t himself at the moment. He could feel bad about it tomorrow. Or maybe you can ask him to dinner to make up for it. Jaskier sighed at his own thoughts. Did he really need to remind himself that he had just been dumped? </p>
<p>Best way to get over something was to get back in the saddle. He’d heard that somewhere. He thought. He could come back when he wasn’t a customer. That seemed a bit less skeevy than asking someone out when they were working. </p>
<p>Hot Florist set down his bundle on the counter, an explosion of pinks and oranges and yellows. Jaskier squinted at it suspiciously. “Are you sure that sends the right message? It looks too… pretty.” </p>
<p>“They’re flowers.” </p>
<p>“Yes, right.” He looked up with a sheepish smile. “I guess if they were ugly, you wouldn’t have a job.” </p>
<p>“Most likely.” </p>
<p>There was a stretch of silence, the awkward kind, though to be fair, most silences were awkward for him. He always felt the need to fill them, and this time was no different. He took a deep breath, watching the other man’s hands as he picked one of each flower, arranging them in a certain way, and went with the first thing that popped into his brain. Gesturing he asked, “What am I saying, exactly? With all that?” </p>
<p>One of the florists eyebrows twitched. “I thought you—”</p>
<p>“No, no, I know,” he interrupted, then wanted to kick himself. Chances of ever going to dinner with this guy were dwindling by the second. He tried to lean on the counter, casually, but his elbow slipped. Hot Florist, to his credit, didn’t laugh. “But don’t they all mean something? Specifically. I read that somewhere. On the internet, probably. Not that you can trust everything you read on the internet.” </p>
<p>He paused for a breath, hoping to God the other man said something because he didn’t think he could physically shove his foot any further down his throat. </p>
<p>“Hmm,” the other man said softly. He held up the bundle. “That he’s a stupid, useless, insensitive disappointment and you hate him.” </p>
<p>Jaskier blinked, eyes dropping to the profusion of color. “I think they must have met Valdo because that is spot on.” </p>
<p>The man’s lips pursed, pulling up on one side, eyes filling with sympathy. Please, don’t let it be pity, he thought. “How big do you want it?”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s mind skidded to a halt. It was either last night’s booze or he actually had the maturity of a twelve year old boy. Or both. It could be both. Because his mind went right into the gutter. “I’m sorry?”</p>
<p>“The arrangement. Did you want a bouquet or something in a vase?” </p>
<p>Yes, the flowers. The reason why he was here. That made him remember the feelings of staring at Valdo across the table at the restaurant, a place that used to be his favorite, struck mute as the man he thought he would marry one day told him it was over; the uncomfortable silence in the car on the way home, Jaskier biting his lip so he didn’t beg Valdo in a moment of weakness to reconsider because he deserved better and he knew it, but he was scared of being alone. Standing in his living room, listening to the sounds of the empty house settling, just trying to breathe, too many emotions to name swirling around in his chest, and feeling like they were going to choke him made him realize his worst fear just came true. </p>
<p>He met the other man’s questioning gaze. Reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, he pulled his debit card out after setting down his coffee and slapped it on the counter. “As big as you can make it.” </p>
<p>They stared at each other across the counter, the silence no longer awkward. The moment, whatever it was, whatever it could have been, was broken by a soft sound behind the florist. Someone cleared their throat and said, “Geralt?”</p>
<p>Jaskier assumed Geralt was the florist’s name because the man spun around, setting the flowers back down on the counter behind him. “Triss. Hi.” </p>
<p>The woman smiled, dark eyes flirting from Geralt to him and back. One of her brows arched, eyes lighting with something as a silent conversation passed between the two. “You look busy. Sorry to interrupt.”</p>
<p>She wore jeans and a simple v-neck t-shirt, both wrists covered in a ridiculous amount of handmade bracelets, some made of thread, others thicker cord. Her brown hair was pulled up in a ponytail, ringlets spilling out around her face, brushing her freckled cheeks. She pulled off a pair of work gloves and shoved them in her back pocket, the other brow raising, more of that silent communication with Geralt. </p>
<p>“You’re not,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder at him. “We were almost done.”</p>
<p>Oh, ouch. That was a brush off if he had ever heard one and he had barely even flirted with the guy. Jaskier returned the woman’s smile with a bright one of his own. If it had too much teeth, well, he wasn’t annoyed at her, but he couldn’t seem to control his face. “We were. It’s no problem,” he told her. To Geralt he asked, “I guess you need Valdo’s address?” </p>
<p>Geralt turned back around to face him, brow furrowed. “Valdo?”</p>
<p>“My ex. The asshole I’m sending these to.” He pushed his card closer to the man’s hand with one finger.</p>
<p>“You’re sending flowers to your ex?” Triss asked in obvious curiosity. He didn’t blame her. It was an odd thing to do. </p>
<p>“It’s a long story.”</p>
<p>“I’d love to hear it,” she said, open and friendly, coming to lean her elbows on the counter, and he didn’t want to be an ass, but he also didn’t want to rehash his breakup for the second time that morning. </p>
<p>“Unfortunately, I need to get going. I have a gig tonight I need to get ready for.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re a musician.”</p>
<p>“I am,” he said and before he could stop himself he was saying, “You should come. Both of you. It’s at the Factory downtown.”</p>
<p>Geralt paused in the act of pulling an old fashioned, leather bound book out from under the counter to write the order down, and Jaskier tried not to be charmed by this flannel shirt wearing, actual paper using, pressed flower bookmark having man, but it didn’t really work. </p>
<p>The woman, Triss, side eyed Geralt, throwing an elbow into his side when the silence stretched on. Geralt grunted then set the book down on the counter, eyes on the pages as he flipped them. “Hmm.”  </p>
<p>Triss rolled her eyes, announcing, “I think it sounds fun. Yen has been wanting to go out.”  </p>
<p>Geralt closed his eyes like he was in pain and Jaskier had no idea what that was about. He didn’t ask either. Triss was smiling, a small, eminently pleased thing that made him think of a cat. The other man turned the book around, holding a pen out for him, and their fingers brushed when he accepted it, their eyes locking. Geralt broke the contact first, pulling his hand away, clearing his throat, eyes moving down and away. It was adorablely bashful and, Aw, fuck, Jaskier thought, I need to get out of here before I do something stupid.   </p>
<p>“It’s $65.98 and that includes the delivery charge,” Geralt was saying, hesitating before picking his debit card up off the counter. </p>
<p>“That’s fine.” Jaskier didn’t look up from where he was scrawling out Valdo’s new address, which the jerk had given him so Jaskier could forward his mail like he was his assistant, not his ex-boyfriend. </p>
<p>“Are you in a band or…?” Triss asked. </p>
<p>He thought she was only being polite, but when he glanced at her she seemed genuinely curious. He set the pen down on top of the counter and retrieved his coffee, playing with the straw. “I was. Sort of. I...well, I sang with someone else, but we were dating and he dumped me last night so, I guess I’m a solo act now.” </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Triss said, face suffused with sympathy. </p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t. It was just what you did. </p>
<p>“Is that the ex you’re sending flowers to?” She scanned the flora on the counter and one of her brows popped up. She looked over her shoulder at Geralt who was coming back with Jaskier’s card in tow. “Geralt?” </p>
<p>“It’s what he asked for.” Geralt sounded a touch defensive. Jaskier smiled at him when he accepted his card back, shoving it in his back pocket, foregoing the juggling of wallet and coffee.  </p>
<p>“It’s true. I did,” he told Triss. “He’s a douche; he deserves it. It’s even better since he won’t know what it means.” He laughed, but it sounded forced. Time to make an exit. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I do have to go,” he rapped the counter with his knuckles and gestured awkwardly, stopping just short of finger guns, oh my God, “but I hope you both can make it. And Yen!” Whoever she was. “It should be a fun night.”</p>
<p>Jaskier all but ran out the door, pausing on the sidewalk to take a deep breath, exhaling with a groan. The fact he hadn’t flirted since he was a teenager was like a flashing light above his head. He didn’t think Geralt would show, but with how much of an ass he had made of himself, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He sighed. Ah, well. </p>
<hr/>
<p>“You’re hopeless,” Triss said as soon as the man--Julian A. Pankratz according to his debit card--left the store. Geralt tried to ignore her. He should have known better. She crossed her arms and pinned him with a look.</p>
<p>“Why do I still work with you? I should find a new supplier.” It was an empty threat and she knew it. Even if Triss wasn’t married to his ex-wife, he wouldn’t fire her.  </p>
<p>“No one else meets your ridiculously high standards,” she pointed out, calling his bluff. “He likes you. It was rather painfully obvious.” </p>
<p>He set down the vase he was going to use for this Marx guy’s Fuck You Bouquet. It made his lips twitch. He could honestly say it was the first time a customer made that request in all the years he had been running the shop since Vesimer retired and left it to him. He loved what he did, plants had always been easier than people, but things did tend to get predictable and he felt like he was stuck in a rut the last few years. Between taking over the shop, his divorce (however amicable his split with Yen had been), and his daughter, he didn’t have much time for anything else. Dating, or even flirting, was the last thing on his mind, but there was no telling that to the women in his life. Lips pursed in annoyance he met Triss’ eyes. “He likes me? What is this highschool?” </p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure if it was, he would have asked you to prom,” she shot back. He stripped the leaves off one of the yellow carnations rougher than he needed to, frustration bleeding through his actions, and Triss winced. She relented to dropping the subject with a sigh, offering, “Speaking of prom, I got those mint julep roses you needed for the boutineers.” </p>
<p>Geralt set down an orange lily and sighed. Shoulders slumping, he braced his hands against the counter. “Thanks, Triss.”</p>
<p>Triss wrapped her arms around his waist, head laid against his back, for just a minute before she stepped back. “It wouldn’t kill you to flirt a little, is all I’m saying.” </p>
<p>He nodded. He wasn’t agreeing to anything, but he knew she meant well. It was better than when Ciri had tried to set him up with her English teacher last year. Parent/teacher conferences had been awkward. He still couldn’t look the woman in the eye when he saw her. His daughter’s only excuse when he asked why she did it was “because you both like to read the same boring books.” </p>
<p>Triss headed for the storeroom and the delivery entrance. He thought he was getting off lightly, but he should have known better. Before she disappeared through the door, she said breezily, “You should think about going to see him sing tonight, too.”</p>
<p>Save him from meddling women. </p>
<p>He pushed it to the back of his mind, focused on putting together the arrangements that needed to go out today. If someone had asked him when he was younger what he wanted to be, he never would have said ‘florist’. When his mother dropped him off here when he was sixteen and couldn’t stop getting into trouble, he’d thought it was the worst thing in the world. No teenage boy wanted to play with flowers all day. Then he met the grouchy, old man who owned the place, who barked at him and talked to the plants when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, and treated him like his own kid, smacking him upside the head when he tried to say he didn’t need to do his homework or go to college. It wound up being the best thing that happened to him besides Ciri being born. </p>
<p>Now, he owned the store, and was making bouquets to secretly tell off people’s exes. He chuckled, setting the bouquet aside to make the six matching corsages and boutineers for some kids’ prom. He’d tried to talk them into something else besides mint julep roses, but they were adamant. He wasn’t about to turn down the sale no matter how ridiculous he thought the idea was. What was wrong with classic red? All the kids wanted flashy, hybrid roses these days. </p>
<p>The phone rang and he picked it up from the counter behind him, tucking it between his ear and shoulder, wrapping the stems of the baby's breath and roses in florist tape. “Wolf Willow.” </p>
<p>“You still answer the phone that way?” a familiar voice drawled lazily. </p>
<p>“Hello, Yennefer.” He set the corsage down and held the phone to his ear. “Is Ciri okay?” </p>
<p>“Our daughter is perfect as always. I called to talk about you.” </p>
<p>“Me?”</p>
<p>“Well, about you and your musician, to be specific.” </p>
<p>“How did—Triss told you,” he said because who else?</p>
<p>“Of course. And we’re going out tonight.” </p>
<p>“We are?” he asked, with a sinking suspicion. </p>
<p>“I have a sitter, Triss and I are picking you up at seven, and please, for the love of God, wear anything but flannel.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Yen didn’t give him the chance to get any words out. Musing, she said, “Maybe those pants I bought you for Christmas two years ago.” </p>
<p>“You bought those as a joke.” </p>
<p>“Uh-huh.”</p>
<p>“They’re leather.”</p>
<p>“Yes and?” </p>
<p>“I’m not wearing leather pants.” </p>
<p>“Geralt,” she sighed, speaking with a sincerity she rarely showed, devoid of her usual sarcastic wit, “you deserve to have fun every once in a while. You deserve to have a life.” She paused, letting him digest that, then added, “You also deserve to get laid, and those pants will make your ass look amazing. It’s why I bought them.” </p>
<p>“How do you know I haven’t gotten laid?” he asked, a little insulted. It was true, but he didn’t want her assuming it. It made him sound pathetic. </p>
<p>“I’ve known you forever, we were married for years and despite any problems we might have had, our sex life was never the issue. I know what you look like when you’re fucking regularly.” </p>
<p>He scowled. The bell above the door chimed, giving him the perfect excuse to stop having this conversation. “I have to go.” </p>
<p>“Wear the pants, Geralt,” she said and hung up. </p>
<p>“Fuck.” The woman who had just walked through the door looked at him with a wide eyed, scandalized look. He held up the handset and shrugged. “Ex-wives, am I right?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I'm not gonna beg for you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The song that Jaskier sings is Love Myself by Hailee Steinfeld</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAEbGIhHfJk">This</a> cover I found on YouTube was the inspo for that scene.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt regretted every choice he had made getting dressed that evening, sitting at a table next to Triss and Yen waiting for Julian’s show to start. “Stop squirming,” Yen sighed in exasperation, after he shifted in his chair for the fifth time. “You look like Ciri when she was three and had to pee.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stilled, scowling at his ex-wife, who was unimpressed. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her vodka. He rolled his eyes, and let his gaze wander around the club. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt had been here once, back when it first opened, and Eskel and Lambert thought he needed to “get back out there” after his divorce. He hadn’t been ready then, focused on making sure Ciri was okay, though his daughter had taken it as well as a twelve year old could. His friends sent him home after an hour of Geralt sitting at the bar, nursing a beer, glaring at the varnished wood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t look anything like it had then. The whole place was filled with tables and chairs, all of which were occupied. The place was packed, but the hectic energy and cacophony was replaced with a low buzz of chatter. The stage was set up with a mic, a single stool, and a guitar resting in a stand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the lights dimmed, even that died down. With the soft click of boot heels across the stage and  the scrape of wood on wood, the lights on stage lit up, haloing a lone man. It took Geralt a minute to realize it was Julian. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that the other man had looked bad when he came into the shop earlier, but he had looked casual in jeans and a shirt with a deep v-neck, messy hair and sunglasses. The man on stage was polished with hair perfectly styled, skin tight black pants, low heeled boots, and a short sleeved, floral button down with enough buttons undone to show off a swath of chest covered in dark hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And his </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It promised things, things Geralt wanted to discover while he messed up all that expertly tousled hair. He hadn’t felt this kind of pull to anyone since… maybe since Yennefer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Definitely since Yennefer, he silently amended, since he hadn’t been with anyone since Yen started dating Triss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Julian had seemed interested, he thought, watching the other man adjust the mic stand and give his guitar a last minute tune. He’d said he thought Geralt was hot. Julian had just gotten out of a relationship, but Geralt still wasn’t sure if he was ready for anything long term anyway. So, maybe… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, chickadees,” Julian’s smooth voice sounded, pulling him from his thoughts. Smile still firmly on his face, Julian scanned the crowd. It was too dark to be seen, but Geralt found himself sucking in a quiet breath when that blue stare passed over him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yen noticed of course and her lips twitched before she leaned over to whisper in Triss’s ear. They were like the two sisters he never wanted but loved anyway. He ignored their giggling, and took a swig of his Blue Moon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so great to be back here again,” Julian said, picking his guitar up to rest in his lap, one knee raised by the boot heel hooked over a rung on the stool. “This is always a great crowd and you’re great for my ego, I have to say.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Julian waited for the few laughs to die down, plucking at a few strings. “I guess you’ve noticed that The Troubadours are short a member. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you Valdo and I have broken up. In all the applicable ways. The split was civil, though,” Geralt snorted picturing the bouquet he sent out for delivery earlier, “but our band is no more and Valdo is pursuing other avenues of expression. Fret not, dearhearts, you haven’t lost me. I’ll still be around.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, he’s dramatic,” Yen muttered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re not?” Geralt countered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she countered. He snorted again. That was as good as a compliment, coming from Yennefer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t normally do covers, I know, but I felt this time,” Julian paused, lips pursed in thought, as he started playing a tune a lot of the audience recognized given the hoots and hollers. He turned that smile on the audience again, tossing out a wink, “I felt this song was apropos given my newly single status.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Julian was beautiful when he sang, voice deep and smooth, and somewhere around the second verse, when Julian stood and started down the stairs off the stage into the audience, Geralt </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> started to regret wearing leather pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I take it nice and slow, feeling good on my own without you, yeah. Got me speaking in tongues. The beautiful, it comes without you, yeah,” Julian sang, flirting his way around the audience, playing his guitar with skillful fingers Geralt was a bit fixated on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he turned around and made eye contact with Geralt from a few tables away, almost tripping over his own feet. He stopped, blinking owlishly, lips parted, before swallowing and picking back up where he left off, changing course to head right for where Geralt sat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna put my body first and love me so hard ‘til it hurts.” He didn’t look away while he sang and if Geralt wasn’t mistaken, there was an extra sway in his hips. He came to a stop right next to Geralt’s chair, hip almost brushing his arm. “I know how to scream out the words, scream the words.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s eyes followed the other man helplessly as he moved off. He heard Yen chuckle. She leaned closer to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Someone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>getting laid tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” was all he said, too busy watching Julian’s ass as he walked back up the stairs to the stage to agree. </span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had actually come. Geralt was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier tried, and failed rather miserably, not to freak out when he went backstage after his set. He set his guitar back in its case—gently because he wasn’t so freaked out that he’d mishandle the Luna—and tried to find something to check his reflection in and gave his pits a sniff. The stage lights were hot and he was always sweaty after a show. He briefly considered asking Gary, the booking manager to smell his breath before heading back out into the club, but reconsidered since he wanted to get more gigs here and Gary was already on the fence with the Troubadours now being the Troubadour, singular. He thought the night had gone well, if he did say so himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But honestly that wasn’t what was at the forefront of his mind as he headed for the stage door. It was the way Geralt had looked at him, bathed in shadows, when their eyes met earlier. God, there was a song there somewhere, he thought, pasting a smile on his face for the people who stopped him on his way through the crowd, and he would totally think about it later when his brain wasn’t drowning in lust. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt was easy to spot between his white hair and the two gorgeous women sitting next to him, the one he didn’t recognize who he assumed was Yen. One of Geralt’s arms was hooked over the back of his chair while he talked to his companions, putting the breadth of his chest on display, the open collar of his shirt showing off his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was the polar opposite of Valdo and all the more attractive for it. Jaskier didn’t want to assume because he hated when people did it to him, but he really hoped Geralt topped at least occasionally because after years of Valdo “You do all the work” Marx, he wanted nothing more than to be held down and fucked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Possibly while he wrote sonnets to Geralt’s body. He didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>to write a sonnet, but he would figure it out just for that purpose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier made a detour to the bar for some liquid courage, and to give his hands something else to do besides paw at Geralt’s pecs (since they didn’t know each other like that yet), then made his way to the other man’s table. It was loud, the DJ for the night having taken over the stage, and the tables on the dance floor cleared out so people could converge in a mass of gyrating, sweating bodies. Jaskier made sure to be in Geralt’s line of sight when he walked up, giving a little wiggle of his fingers when the other man’s gaze met his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt lifted his chin, and Jaskier took that as permission to sit at the table. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him, one curious and honey brown, one assessing and violet, and one heated gold. He swallowed and pasted on a smile. He wasn’t sure if he was more turned on from the way Geralt was looking at him, or scared by Yen’s intensity. Either Geralt’s friend was very protective and knew Jaskier wanted to get in his pants, which he wasn’t going to worry about because Geralt was a big boy who could make his own decisions and he didn’t need to make nice with a one night stand's friends, or she hadn’t liked his music and then… well, that was a matter of taste. He had faced off against tough crowds before, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for coming,” he more or less yelled to ensure he was heard. To Geralt, who he was sitting closest to, he pitched his voice so only the other man could hear him. “I wasn’t sure you would.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I almost didn’t,” replied in that deep voice of his that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. He was honest—Jaskier could appreciate that. There was also no denying the invitation in Geralt’s heated gaze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning in closer, he placed his hand on Geralt’s thigh—Sweet Jesus, the man clearly didn’t skip leg day—and said as softly as he could, “I’m glad you did.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Yen—who he still hadn’t been introduced to and honestly didn’t care—spoke up suddenly and stood. She grabbed Triss’ hand, pulling the other woman to her feet.</span>
  <span>"I've seen enough." Yen turned to look at Geralt. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Then back to Triss. "Let's go make some people jealous."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of you or of me?” Triss asked, a smirk pulling up the corners of her lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Both, of course,” Yen said with a shrug. Triss laughed while pressing a kiss on the other woman’s cheek, and they disappeared into the crowd. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have some interesting friends,” Jaskier said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Geralt said with a sigh, still turned in the direction the two women went, eyes narrowed. Whatever had been going through his head, he physically shook it off, those ridiculously intense eyes meeting Jaskier’s. He wasn’t sure, but he might have groaned, thankful the thumping music drowned it out if he did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt still hadn’t said anything about Jaskier’s hand on his thigh. The hand that was now caressing the soft leather under his palm, petting it like a cat. The other man took a gulp of whatever was in his glass, not breaking eye contact while he tipped his head back slightly to swallow. The line of his throat as it worked sendt his thoughts straight into the gutter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier had been blurting things out since meeting this man, and now was no different. Leaning forward, the motion lurching and ungraceful in his haste, bracing himself on that thick thigh, he spoke in a rush. “Do you want to get out of here?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The glass in Geralt’s hand hit the table, almost tipping over, one of Geralt’s hands—big, warm, strong—gripping his and, oh fuck, had he messed up? Moved too fast? Read him wrong?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought a second later when Geralt’s lips were on his, and Geralt’s tongue was in his mouth because he moaned and, oh God, had kissing ever been this good? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt kissed him, and Jaskier just hung on for the ride, fingers curled into Geralt’s shirt, getting frustrated when his knee hit the other man’s thigh, and he couldn’t get any closer. For a second, when Geralt nipped at his lower lip and sucked away the sting, Jaskier contemplated pulling him into the bathroom, but—no, no. That wouldn’t work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was panting when Geralt pulled away. It took effort to open his eyes. He was so turned on he felt drunk. If Geralt fucked half as good as he kissed, Jaskier was going to get his wish. “Your place or mine?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yours,” Geralt grunted. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They barely made it through the door before his hands were up Geralt’s shirt and Geralt’s hands were cupping his ass, body trapped between Geralt’s wide body and the hall. He white knuckled it the whole way home just to stop from grabbing Geralt and causing an accident, but now he didn’t need to stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier ran his nails down the other man’s back, relishing in the groan Geralt pressed into his mouth and chased with his tongue. He dug his fingers into those white strands when his hands trailed back up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bedroom,” Geralt grunted. The end of the word was cut off by Jaskier attacking his lips, lips Jaskier didn’t approve of being so far away from his own. He got in a few more kisses before the other man put space between them again, taking Geralt’s bottom lip between his teeth in retaliation. Maybe not a great idea to piss off the guy he was trying to get into bed, but Jaskier didn’t care. He felt desperate in a way he never had before, and he didn’t want to think about why. Geralt could help him forget, and he wanted the man to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hissed at the sting and held him back by his hair, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look all that upset really, and Jaskier could still feel the hard length of him pressed up against his hip, so that was good. In fact, his lips curled up at one side, amused, possibly despite himself, by how needy Jaskeir was acting. He could deal with that. Not like he was going to see the man again. “Where’s your bedroom, Julian?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled a face, palms pressing against Geralt’s chest to push the other man back, a knee jerk reaction to hearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>that name</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Ugh, nu-uh. No one calls me that, except my mother, and I definitely don’t want to be thinking about her. Now of all times,” he added, giving a roll of his hips for emphasis. Much as he hated his name, he was horny as hell, thank you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Geralt shrugged, nonplussed, and wrapped an arm around his waist, easing him closer. Those lips of his trailed up Jaskier’s neck and that was good. “What do I call you then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can call me anything but </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> as long as we’re both naked in the next five minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do that, little lark.” Geralt smiled, lips quirked on one side, and he almost swallowed his damn tongue. Or swallowed Geralt’s tongue. Or fell to his knees to put it to better use. Holy fuck, Jaskier hadn’t thought Geralt could get any hotter. The man was full of surprises, he thought a bit dazedly, gripping Geralt’s leather clad ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked just as good in plaid, but this was something else. “But you still need to tell me which way to go to find a bed.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier thought he was prepared for the sight of Geralt naked, knowing how attractive the man looked with his clothes </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he was woefully mistaken. Standing in the middle of his bedroom, clad in nothing but low slung leather pants and boots, Geralt was a vision. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to sit down,” he whispered, groping behind him for the bed and collapsing into the end of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern, and Jaskier, worried Geralt might try to stop, babbled, “Me? I’m great. Your abs just need to be listed as deadly weapons.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” the other man said, with this smile that promised sin, moving closer to stand between Jaskier’s thighs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He sounded breathless, and there was nothing he could do about it. He swallowed hard, curling his fingers in the waistband of Geralt’s pants. “I don’t want to make any assumptions here since I hate it when people do it to me, but do you have a preference for how we do this?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s brows raised in question, gazing down at Jaskier with eyes like molten gold. “Preference?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you pitch or catch?” Geralt still looked confused. “Top or bottom? Or do you not care? Because if I get to make a request, I’ve been thinking about having you inside me since the first time I saw you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you?” One of Geralt’s large, warm hands curled around the back of his neck, and he leaned into the solid weight of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, yes.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Geralt rumbled, “because I’ve been thinking about being inside you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank fuck.” Jaskier tugged, sending Geralt toppling. Geralt landed against his chest with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>oomph</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Jaskier swallowed, slipping his tongue between Geralt’s lips, digging his nails in the muscles back under his hands, pressing his cock against Geralt’s thigh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt levered up on his elbows, holding him at bay when he tried to chase his lips. “I haven’t,” the uncertainty in the other man’s voice cut through the haze of lust, “I haven’t done this in a while.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier tossed him a smirk and a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m an excellent teacher.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier nudged Geralt to his side, missing the feel of their bodies touching, but he comforted himself with the fact that it would only be for a moment. Shedding his shirt and tossing it in a random direction, he crawled over to the nightstand, adding an extra sway when he glanced back and saw Geralt’s eyes glued to his ass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lube in hand, he tossed a condom near the pillows, and flopped onto his back, letting his legs fall open. Geralt watched with half lidded eyes as he popped the button on his pants and slowly pulled the zipper down. He worked his hand into the parted fabric, taking himself in hand, slowly stroking his cock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got lost in the feeling, eyes closed, other hand stroking his chest. He hadn’t forgotten Geralt was there, the weight of the man’s stare like a caress, but a surprised moan burst from his throat when he felt a tongue on his nipple. He slid his fingers into Geralt’s hair, head lolling against the pillow. “Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt chuckled, the sound vibrating against Jaskier’s skin, taking the nipple he had laved between his teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t been with anyone since…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt trailed off, but Jaskier could fill in the blanks. He hadn’t slept with anyone since Yen and she had slightly different anatomy than he did. He hadn’t been with another </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span>, specifically. Jaskier was kind of honored that he would be the one changing that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed up, Geralt moving with him until they were both kneeling on the bed, trailing kisses down Geralt’s chest while he worked open those sinfully tight pants. They clung to Geralt like a second skin. It took some work and Geralt lying down, but Jaskier got Geralt naked. Couldn’t resist taking that thick cock he uncovered into his mouth while tugged the leather down Geralt’s thighs, tossing the pants haphazardly on the floor. He was too busy worshipping Geralt with his tongue and running his hands over the hair covering Geralt’s thick thighs. The man was a cornucopia of sensations—the way he tasted, the way he felt, the sounds he made.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier groped for the bottle of lube and blindly spread on the fingers of one hand. The angel was… fucking awful. He had to hunch to reach his hole, but no way in hell was he willing to give up Geralt’s cock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took as much of that dick as he could, moaning around the length when he slid a finger inside himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you—fuck!” Geralt’s hands tightened in his hair, hips bucking once before he seemed to catch himself. “God, Jaskier. Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hummed and felt Geralt shiver. The way the man’s thighs tensed, the way Geralt groaned, would have made him smile if his lips weren’t already stretched wide. He settled for working another finger into his hole, scissoring them so he could add a third. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It would have to be good enough. Jaskier had never felt more impatient. Getting Geralt inside of him was as important as breathing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s dick was spit slick when he let it fall from his mouth. Between the two of them, they got Geralt suited up—they spent a few seconds searching for the little, foil package, which wound up half hidden in Geralt’s hair. Jaskier stroked him, hand wet with lube, and balanced on his knees. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt dug bruises into Jaskier’s hips while he slowly lowered himself down onto Geralt’s cock. His legs were shaking by the time he was seated in the other man’s lap, Geralt biting off curses. He looked breathtaking. The way his head was thrown back, eyes closed and teeth gritted as though he were in pain. But Jaskier knew he was barely keeping himself in check—the minute twitching of his fingers, the shifting he f his legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier started off slow, a gentle rolling of his hips, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He didn’t want this to be over too soon. Jaskier had never been one to deny himself what he wanted, though, and this felt good but he wanted more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rising up on his knees, Jaskier waited for a moment before dropping back down wanting Geralt’s eyes on him. It shocked a moan from both men. Jaskier set a rhythm, slow drag up and a hard drop down, the slap of skin against skin blending with sounds of pleasure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s muscles were straining, fingers slipping for purchase on Geralt’s sweat slick skin. He sank lower and lower until he was flat against Geralt’s chest, Geralt shocking punched out noises when he planted his feet against the mattress and picked up the slack when Jaskier’s movements slowed down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier arched his back, chanting </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes, yes </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his head or maybe out loud because this is what he wanted, someone pounding into him, giving him everything he could take. “Yes, just like that. Fuck, Geralt, please, please. Don’t stop—oh.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier wasn’t sure what the hell he was saying, but the words kept spilling from his mouth. The friction against his dick, trapped between their bodies and the stimulation against his prostate, set him off like a rocket. It kept going while Geralt chased his own orgasm, fireworks shooting off behind his closed lids, incoherent babbling muffled against Geralt’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One final thrust and Geralt stilled, arms wrapped tightly around Jaskier while he spilled inside the condom. Jaskier had the brief, stupid thought that he wished he could feel Geralt spilling inside him, warm and wet. He blamed being in a monogamous relationship for so many years. That had to be it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier flopped to the side once Geralt’s hold loosened enough and they both laid their, panting, skin cooling, Geralt holding the condom in place so it did leak and add to the mess from Jaskier’s come drying on his belly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s ass throbbed in a delicious way and a tired smile was forming when he said, “We should do that again sometime.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Geralt grunted. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Saw us getting older</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>What started out as an occasional booty call somehow turned into something else, and Jaskier wasn’t really sure when it had happened. Or maybe he did. He hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call Geralt. He didn’t think. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They just texted sometimes, and it wasn’t always to find out if the other was available for some time between the sheets. Or on the couch. Or his dining room table that one time. They never went to Geralt’s because he said he felt weird about having sex so close to his daughter’s room even if she wasn’t sleeping there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> been a shock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have a kid?” he remembered choking out, grateful he had swallowed the gulp of water he had taken from the glass on his side table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Geralt asked in a way that made Jaskier wonder if it had been a problem for someone else in the past. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. No, no, no. It’s just… Oh, God, you’re a DILF.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A what?” Having to explain to the man you were sleeping with sometimes what a DILF was had been one conversation Jaskier never imagined he would ever have, but Geralt’s blush had been worth it. But that hadn’t been what changed this whole casual thing into something less than casual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> It started when his sink broke. He was freaking out, trying to figure out what to do, watching as his kitchen flooded, but next thing he knew his phone was pressed to his ear, and Geralt’s deep voice was rumbling a confused, “Hello?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t blamed Geralt for being confused. They didn’t talk on the phone. That wasn’t what their relationship, for lack of a better word, was about. But he’d called Geralt and now he had to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “My kitchen is turning into a pond.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More confusion from Geralt. “What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The kitchen sink broke and there’s water flooding everywhere.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know how to turn the water off?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I knew how to turn off the water I would have done it.” He didn’t mean to get snippy, but he knew if he called a plumber it would take them time to get out here, and all the while his original hardwood floors that he fell in love with were getting soaked. He just… Goddamn it, Valdo had always been better with things like this, but he was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t hang up on him the way Jaskier expected him to. Instead he said, “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what? Aren’t you at work? You don’t have to do that.” Geralt wasn’t his boyfriend, Jaskier wasn’t even sure if they were friends, to be honest. This was a friend type thing at the least. The last thing he wanted was to be the needy booty call and have Geralt get tired of him and—Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>crap</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marilka’s here. She’ll be fine on her own for an hour,” Geralt said, followed by muffled conversation Jaskier assumed was with Marilka, but he’d stopped paying attention. Jaskier must have made a sufficient reply because the dial tone sounded in his ear. He wasn’t sure not because he was staring at the sink in horror, but because he just realized that he wanted Geralt fucking Rivia to be his boyfriend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had that even happened? Sure it was the best sex he’d ever had in his life, and Geralt could be funny when he wasn’t being silent. He was a bit awkward in an adorable way. This is a disaster, he thought, jumping when the doorbell sounded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked gorgeous, wearing a t-shirt that stretched across his pecs and worn in jeans, with his hair down around his shoulders. Jaskier kind of… stared for longer than he should have, and Geralt’s brows pulled low. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he replied, voice pitched high and squeaky. He could feel his cheeks getting red, and cleared his throat, stepping back to make room for the other man to come inside. “I mean, I’m getting water damage. Why would I be okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt made a noncommittal sound and headed for the kitchen. Jaskier winced when he closed the door and followed behind him, feeling bad that Geralt’s boots and the hem of his jeans were getting wet, but Geralt himself didn’t seem to care, not even when the sink sprayed his shirt, too. He pulled the cabinet open and crouched down, reaching under it to fiddle with something, and the water stopped spraying all over his kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re magic,” Jaskier said, eyes climbing slowly up to meet Geralt’s, cataloging the way cotton clung to his skin as Geralt stood. The other man smirked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut-off valve.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt was standing there, hands propped on his hips, managing to not look like a half drowned rat--would he look this good getting out of the shower in the morning after waking up in Jaskier’s bed? His mind just had to go there now that he was thinking about Geralt as a possible-boyfriend because he liked to torture himself, apparently. It took a minute for him to register what Geralt said. He blinked. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Towels?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Towels would be good.” He tried not to focus on the--was it fond?--glimmer in Geralt’s eyes and ran down the hall to grab all the towels in the linen closet. He took all the extra sheets, too, for good measure. Together, they spread them out, sopping up as much water as they could. It wasn’t perfect and some of his furniture might be a little worse for wear, but gratitude for Geralt filled his chest, making it warm and tight. He wanted to hug him, but Jaskier also didn’t want to risk Geralt pushing him away. He settled for a smile and a, “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s no problem,” Geralt said, picking up a few of the more waterlogged sheets and towels to toss them in the washer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you, uh,” he started, and Geralt paused in the doorway to the laundry room. Jaskier didn’t want to scare Geralt away. This might be too boyfriend-y, or maybe even just friend-y, but Geralt has faced down his demonic sink, and Jaskier couldn’t let him leave the house dripping wet—not </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>kind of wet anyway. Screw it. He was a nice person after all, and it was the least he could do. “Do you want to borrow a pair of sweats and a t-shirt or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate that,” Geralt said without missing a beat, walking into the laundry room like it was no big deal to borrow his clothes. From the other room, Geralt said, “I have to pick Ciri up at school in twenty. Be nice to not show up looking like this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was worried for a moment that Geralt was mad, but there was a small smile on his face when he walked back into the main room of the house, head tilted, and Jaskier thought this might be the first time he saw Geralt smile. He made some kind of noise, and escaped down the hall so he didn’t stare at Geralt like a love sick fool, because—well, he couldn’t be in love. That would be ridiculous. Lust, that’s what it was. Lust and a lot of like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what had him agonizing over what he should lend Geralt—was this the new ‘I left my favorite sweater at your place, can I come get it?’ ploy to make sure you saw someone again? It didn’t really matter because Geralt was going to be wearing his clothes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that smelled like his detergent and his antique cedar dresser, and therefore smelled like him. It was a lot more appealing than he would have assumed. He had always hated when Valdo wore his clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What even was happening? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pulled a pair of worn gray sweats—it had nothing to do with the one time Geralt showed up in gray sweats, hugging his thighs, fabric outlining the length of his dick, they were just very soft, thank you—and a maroon t-shirt that he maybe knew was going to stretch across Geralt’s chest out of his dresser. There was a possibility he would be complicit in a few soccer moms (or dads) having heart failure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hell, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>might have heart failure, he thought when Geralt walked out of the bathroom, looking at his phone, and Jaskier had to bite his lip to stop his mouth from dropping open. Geralt looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good in his clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt came to a stop next to Athena’s empty perch, frowning at it before transferring his gaze to Jaskier. “Where’s your… bird?” he asked the way someone else might have asked, “Where’s your radioactive bomb?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Outside in her mews,” he answered, not able to stop the smirk from forming on his lips, thinking of the first time Geralt came over and she was in the house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is that?” he’d asked, stopping dead in his tracks, distracted from sucking bruises into Jaskier’s neck, which he had taken affront to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s just Arty.” He tried to tug Geralt back to his neck, but Geralt resisted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you have a hawk in your house?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s scared of thunderstorms,” he said, but that didn’t seem to satisfy Geralt who still refused to get back to business. Jaskier was torn between irritation at the pause in their activities and pleasure at the prospect of boasting. “I’m a falconer,” he said with not a small amount of pride. Geralt’s frown deepened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did that happen?” Jaskier’s mouth fell open and he drew back as far as Geralt’s arms around his waist would allow in affront. Geralt had the decency to look at least a bit abashed. “You just don’t seem like the type.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alright, Jaskier had been able to understand that. He wasn’t what most people thought of when they pictured a falconer, but he hadn’t planned on having an in depth conversation about his upbringing when he was pressing an erection against the thigh of the hot man whom he had planned to be under all evening. He shrugged. “My parents wanted me to golf,” he said then kissed Geralt before the other man could ask more questions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Geralt gave one last glance to the stand, like he didn’t quite believe Arty wouldn’t appear, pursing his lips at him when Jaskier snorted. He shrugged, unrepentant, and Geralt rolled his eyes, lips twitching and fighting a smile. It was becoming one of his favorite things, making Geralt smile despite himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me your phone.” Jaskier raised his brows, but handed it over without question. The other man typed something and handed it back before pocketing his own phone. “Give my friend Lambert a call. He’s a plumber. He’ll fix your sink and won’t price gouge you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a florist and your friend is a plumber. Do you know anyone else with useful skills?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Geralt said, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him close. “My friend Eskel is a contractor, my ex-wife is a photographer and you already know her girlfriend is a gardener.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotta love a man with connections.” He tried not to freak out and let his smile slip at the use of the word ‘love’. It was just a saying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, still looking amused. “Give me a call later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was still trying to figure out how to take that--catching feelings seriously messed with his ability to read a situation--when Geralt leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead on his way out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What. The hell? Jaskier blinked at the door for a good five minutes after it closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he dialed Lambert because he could kill two birds with one stone: get his sink fixed </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> fish for information about whether Geralt was open to dating. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out in his car, Geralt shut the door behind him and sat there. Had he </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>just done that? “Fuck,” he sighed. He couldn’t think about it now because he needed to pick up Ciri, and he wasn’t about to leave his daughter waiting for even a minute longer than he needed to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled up in front of her school, smiling when he spotted her standing out front talking to her friends, all arms and legs after a growth spurt over the summer, soccer ball under her arm. He shook his head fondly. The stupid thing was attached to her these days. She had come home one day saying she wanted to play in the Olympics like Mia Hamm. Geralt then spent the weekend putting up a net in the backyard while Yenn and Triss took Ciri to get cleats and shin guards and those weird long socks, and that was that. His daughter was a soccer player and he woke up at the ass crack of dawn on Saturdays to watch her games while Marilka watched the shop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri caught sight of him when he stopped at the curb, and smiled at him so brightly that he didn’t even care--everything was worth it for her. She waved to Dara and a couple girls on her team, then jogged over. She opened the back door to toss her bookbag and ball down before sliding in the front seat. “Hey, Dad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, peanut,” he said once she was buckled in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt saw her roll her eyes out of the corner of his. “I’m too old for that. You’re so embarrassing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” was all he said because they had this conversation everyday. He had moved out of the house after the divorce, not wanting to uproot Ciri or make Yen have to worry about what to do with her studio in the basement, but Geralt picked her up from school and dropped her off on Yen’s days or took her to his apartment on his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The incessant sounds of Ciri typing on her phone stopped abruptly. “What the hell are you wearing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked away from the road for a second to frown at her. “Hey. Who taught you how to talk like that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and mom. Duh.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had him there. “I,” he looked down at the too tight shirt he was wearing, “had to help a friend. His sink broke and my clothes got wet. He let me borrow these.” He hadn’t mentioned Jaskier. Calling him a friend seemed safest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“His sink broke? Is that some euphemism for sex? That’s gross.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he choked, looking at Ciri with wide eyes before he remembered that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>driving</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hands went wite knuckle on the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve seemed happier lately. I figured you were dating someone and didn’t tell me. That’s what mom did before Triss moved in.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His daughter was too goddamn smart. He still wasn’t going to try to explain booty calls to a sixteen year old. Or ever. “We’re not dating. Exactly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said with meaning and he frowned harder. He could feel her roll her eyes. “I have the internet, Dad.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t remind me,” he huffed, laughing when Ciri bit off a giggle. They lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. He expected his daughter to jump out of the car after a quick goodbye like normal, but Ciri unbuckled her seat belt and turned to him solem eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can date, you know. I’m fine with it. You don’t have to worry about me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure what to say to that. She was his kid; he was always going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>worry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he got what she meant. Maybe it was time for him to let go, a little. It had been four years, and Ciri had survived her parents getting divorced and gaining a stepmom (or close enough since neither Yen or Triss felt the need to make it legal). His kid was strong and resilient like her mother. Her father dating would hardly be the worst thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Jaskier was… unexpected. He made Geralt laugh and his incessant chatter, a thing Geralt normally found annoying, was something he found he missed when it was gone. Jaskier’s silly texts were sometimes the best part of his day. And that wasn’t even considering the sex. He couldn’t remember wanting someone this much. Ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of which he was going to tell his kid. He made a noncommittal noise, mouth pursed, and she smiled, knowing she’d won. His daughter knew him too well. She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love you, too, pumpkin,” he said because he knew it would annoy her. Ciri rolled her eyes again like the teenager he sometimes forgot she was, and got out to grab her stuff from the backseat. He watched her take two steps toward the house, wondering if she forgot something when she turned around and pulled the passenger door open, ducking down to look inside. “Oh, and Dad? I want to meet him. Bye!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slammed shut behind her and she jogged away. He had to laugh because she had played him spectacularly. She was more like Yen everyday, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, he thought wryly. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I know that I'm special</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m overdressed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier thought as the soles of his boots slipped on the gravel of the parking lot. What was he even doing at a soccer field at the crack of dawn, surrounded by people in sweatshirts and ball caps and sneakers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps the Burberry trench coat was a bit much.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his defense, Jaskier had never met the daughter of someone he was dating before. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time agonizing over what one wore to such an occasion. Getting the invite had been a surprise in the first place. The text was there sitting on his phone when he woke up after a late night playing a gig at a bar two hours away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a smile started forming as soon as he saw Geralt’s name. He thought he read it wrong at first. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>You should come to Ciri’s soccer game this weekend.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier started at it for a while, put his phone down, got coffee, let Arty out of her mews, stared at his phone some more, and tried not to overthink it which he failed at miserably. He wished he could call someone, but he didn’t have any friends besides his bird, as sad as it was to admit, and she didn’t always give the best advice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, Jaskier called the only person he could think of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lambert, hi. It’s Jaskier.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause, the consideration almost palpable. “You break something else?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he fiddled with his ring, the signet that had been his grandfather’s, and took a deep breath, then blurted, “Geralt wants me to meet Ciri.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert’s laughter rang in his ear so loudly he had to pull his phone away. He could hear Lambert talking to someone else. “Yo, E. You doing anything Saturday?” Jaskier couldn’t hear the other person’s reply, but Lambert chuckled and said, “We have to go to the cub’s soccer game.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other person must have moved closer because Jaskier heard him ask, “Why the hell would I get up at the ass crack of dawn to stand out in a field if I don’t have to?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert came back with, “Geralt’s got himself a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The emphasis on the word made his meaning clear, and the man Jaskier assumed was Eskel drawled, “No shit? It’s about time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was tempted to hang up, but his curiosity got the better of him, especially after his conversation with Lambert when he came to fix the sink. Jaskier had tried to be casual, sandwiching his probing between innocuous things like “Do you need anything to drink?” and “How bad is the damage to the sink?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert hadn’t been fooled. The large man sat back on his haunches and looked up at Jaskier, wiping his hands off in a towel before scratching at his beard, scarred brow cocked. “How exactly do you know Geralt, anyway? He didn’t say when I asked him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier wasn’t normally one to get embarrassed about, well, anything, but he looked away because that was certainly telling, wasn’t it? Geralt hadn’t told his friend about Jaskier when asked point blank. Maybe Geralt hadn’t told him he liked men? Yen and Triss seemed to know, but then again Geralt had been married to one of them for years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt’s a close mouthed asshole at the best of times, though,” Lambert added, his shrug apparent in his tone and Jaskier felt a spark of… something. He was loath to label it hope. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert wasn’t looking at him anymore, standing to put away his tools. Jaskier took a deep breath, not sure what he was going to say, until the words, “How often does Geralt date?” came out of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert’s bark of laughter was startling in the small space. “Never, since Yen. Too worried about his kid, I guess. Plus, he wouldn’t know how to do casual if it bit him on the ass.” He turned to lean back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Known him since high school and as soon as he saw that girl,” he whistled, “boy was gone. Didn’t even look at anyone else once they became a thing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Our buddy Eskel and I tried to take him out a few times after his divorce, get him laid, but I don’t even think he remembers how to talk to other people anymore when it’s not about flowers or Ciri,” he chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that,” Jaskier quipped, not quite able to meet the other man’s eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, ho, so it’s like that, is it? Didn’t think the man had it in him.” Lambert sighed, sobering “Look, it’s not my business, okay? Geralt’s a big boy, he can do what he wants. But you seem like an okay guy, so just, be careful. Let down easy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him—I’m sorry, what?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt doesn’t do casual. He might think he can, but he gets attached pretty damn quick. I don’t want to see him get hurt. Man’s had enough of that in his life.” Lambert pushed off from the counter, and headed for the door. “Trap under the sink rusted through. It’s an easy fix. Got a pvc one I can replace it with in my truck. I’ll go grab it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait.” Lambert looked at Jaskier over his shoulder. “What if I want Geralt to be not casual?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other man smiled. “Well, that’s something different. He’s also stubborn as a mule. Gimme a sec, and we can talk while I work.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lambert gave him some advice which basically boiled down to “Show him you’re okay with his kid and having her in your life.” Jaskier hadn’t been sure if it would work, he was happy that it had, don’t get him wrong, but now that the moment of actually meeting her was here, he might be on the edge of panic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What business did he have being in a kid’s life? He was hardly step-parent material. His childhood had been crap; what the hell did he know? And here he was, reaching out to the only person he could think of, and Lambert was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not being helpful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” he said louder than he intended, but it got the other men to shut up long enough for him to say, “I haven’t even said I’d go yet.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the fuck not?” Lambert asked, sounding offended, and Jaskier had to laugh. Turns out Lambert was a good listener when he wasn’t being an ass and now, here Jaskier was, boot heels sinking into the grass, trying to spot a familiar head of white hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ended up seeing Ciri first: tall and willowy, white blond hair braided down her back, big smile like her dad, and cunning eyes like her mother. She saw him too, scanning him from head to toe before elbowing Geralt in the ribs to get his attention. Geralt grunted, and turned to give his daughter a look, freezing when he caught sight of Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ciri smirked, and gave her dad a shove. Yen glanced over when Geralt stumbled. Jaskier got a chin lift from Yen, and a wave from Triss before the pair went back to their conversation with Ciri. Yen wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt met him halfway and Jaskier, like the gay disaster that he was, said, “You look good.” Geralt hummed softly, lips tilting up on one side. Jaskier shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I think I went a bit overboard.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier lifted his eyes from the spot on the grass he had been studying intently when Geralt pulled one of his hands free, fingers wrapping around his own. “You look fine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled because Geralt was holding his hand </span>
  <em>
    <span>in public</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Closing the scant distance between them had the two men pressed together from chest to thigh. “Really? How fine do I look?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt said with what he was almost positive was fondness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, I won’t fish for compliments.” More seriously, he asked, “Why did you want me to come here?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt wouldn’t quite meet his eyes for a half a second. “Ciri wanted to meet you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She knows about me?” Which of course she did. The teenager had pushed her dad in Jaskier’s direction after all, but what had Geralt told her?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. I mentioned you the day your sink broke. She’s been hounding me with questions ever since. She’s even been asking Yen about you,” he added, sounding like the world’s most beleaguered father, and Jaskier laughed, wrapping his arm around Geralt’s waist and slipping his free hand into his back pocket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like you, Geralt.” It could blow up in his face, but the man was introducing him to his daughter. That suggested a level of feeling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like you, too, Jaskier.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His smile was so wide now his cheeks hurt. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret later like “I love you” because it was too soon, but a sharp whistle came from their right followed by a shouted, “Just kiss him already.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt groaned, glaring at his friends. When had Lambert and Eskel (he assumed) even shown up? Lambert was wearing a shiteater’s grin, while Eskel was standing with his arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not too late,” Geralt said and Jaskier frowned. “You’ll have to deal with all of them. Are you sure—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt? Shut up.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A chorus of shouts and applause when up and Jaskier kissed Geralt. Tackling this bunch was a small price to pay for finding something so rare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to keep the original moulding.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And the floor. I like the floors.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier. You’ve told me twelve times.” Eskel glowered, and Jaskier was unimpressed as always. He knew the truth—the big, scarred man was a giant teddy bear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just making sure. I love this house.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to let anything happen to your house,” Eskel promised with such solemnity that Jaskier knew he meant it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, fine. I’m going to make coffee or something.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea.” Eskel was already back to looking at the plans he had drawn up for the extension to Jaskier’s house, spread out across a makeshift table in the backyard so he went back inside. It had been six months since he and Geralt had officially started dating and some people might think it was a little fast, but Geralt was moving in—he spent most of his time at Jaskier’s place anyway—but that meant they needed a bedroom for Ciri. The spare bedroom was Jaskier’s studio and one bathroom between him and a teenager was not a life he wanted to think about. Adding more space had been the only option, and Eskel had offered his services (which Jaskier accepted after looking up his online reviews—had he mentioned he loved his house?). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing had even started yet, but he already felt like he was in construction hell. He sighed, and braced his hands on the kitchen counter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would all be worth it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, gazing out the window, smiling when he felt familiar arms wrap around his waist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Eskel here already?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm.” He lifted his chin to give Geralt more access. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who me? Fantastic, especially if you keep doing that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it,” he insisted, turning so he could face Geralt. “I want you here. I want you all here, even your demon cat.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Roach isn’t a demon. She’s just grumpy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would be, too, with a name like that!” he yelled when Geralt poked him in the side, and nipped Geralt’s lower lip in retaliation, which turned, as things normally did with them, into a make out session. He pulled back to press their foreheads together. “I never thought I’d have a family again.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you can put up with mine, you’re welcome to them.” He swatted at Geralt, but it wasn’t serious, and the other man smiled. “I’m going to go talk to Eskel.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Geralt and Eskel talk out the kitchen window while he made coffee, humming the tune to a new song he’d thought up. The one he planned to sing when he proposed to Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who would have thought that getting dumped would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When are you gonna do it?” Eskel didn’t bother looking up from plans for the house, kept making marks with the pencil in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt braced a hip against one of the saw horses topped in wood planks. “Do what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel looked at him from the corner of his eye then slowly set his pencil down and straightened. “You’ve never been able to bullshit me before. Don’t start now.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt gave him a shove, setting Eskel laughing. Geralt sighed. “When the house is done. So you’d better get moving.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I’d stand in the way of true love,” Eskel proclaimed with mock gravity. “And getting to be your best man twice? I’m not passing that up.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who said I’m asking you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who else would you ask? Lambert?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Yenn,” he shot back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, ouch,” Eskel laughed. “You have a ring, right? Jaskier seems like a ring type of guy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt scowled, offended. “Of course, I do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know you’re not a complete idiot.” Eskel went back to the plans, dismissing Geralt. “Go make out with that future husband of yours.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Geralt said, even as he headed for the porch steps. Jaskier saw him and gave a little wave of his fingers. The man was beautiful. Jaskier walking into his flower shop was the best thing that happened to him next to Ciri being born. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If his luck held out—he’d also be his husband one day soon. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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